the eyes that blind fear
by whatwecallfate
Summary: The first time they met, she went crashing into him. Literally. Hawkeye. Crack.
1. what they call falling, literally

_So this is my first time on this site! And I decided to start off with The Avengers. Spoilers if you haven't watched the movie! Also, there's a reason why this is crack! Not really romance. I suck at romance lol.  
_

_Also, I just want to say this is NOT a self-insert. I wanted to explore the dynamic of an average civilian and a superhero and see where that would take me._

* * *

Clint Barton knew the moment he stepped onto this team he'd be walking into a minefield of trip-wire egos and passive aggressive.

So he watched. From a distance. He was good at this. He _excelled_ at this. There was a reason why they called him _Hawkeye_. He was an observer, not an instigator. He'd much rather leave the petty insults and backhanded compliments to powerhouse industrialists like _Tony Stark_ or old, sagacious wise men beyond their time like Steve Rogers—maybe even Thor. He _was_ a god, after all. He was bound to be worldlier than the lot of them combined.

Naturally, Hawkeye knew this meant casualty.

But never once did he quite expect, in the midst of all the warfare, aliens, and bridges to other dimensions, for Tony Stark to throw a bone in his direction.

Correction: all two hundred and six of them.

Her landing was neither smooth nor graceful. And this was one civilian who ended up toppling him over into the rubble ground of the high roof. Had she been two inches off margin, Hawkeye's tooth surely would've made contact with the ledge, and he would've ended up with a chip.

"_Sorry ol' boy. Damsel here was caught up half a block down. Alien snake started after me. And you just happened to be in the right place at the right time_," Tony stated casually through the mic.

"Lucky me," Hawkeye deadpanned right back into the receiver.

"Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my _God_. I'm _so, _so, so, so, so, so, so sorry."

When he felt the weight lift off his back, Hawkeye managed push himself onto his knees, trying to smooth the kinks from his neck with his free hand. In an effort to avoid wasting time, he raised his bow, not even bothering to spare the girl next to him a glance as he stated monotonously, "It's fine," and with added gesture to make her realize that certain things couldn't be helped in a time like this, "it wasn't your fault."

_A certain suit of armor, on the other hand…_

But she didn't seem to register this as quick when she made a move forward, "Are you okay? I know I must've hit you hard. I was so high up in the air. I mean—I _failed_ high school physics completely, but even I know that the higher you fall, the harder you hit. Oh my God, did I break something? I did—I know it. I felt something crack when I hit," and it was only here she sucked in a deep breath to continue, "oh my God, did I break you?"

Rambling. He resisted the urge to groan. This _would_ happen to someone like him. He would get stuck with somebody like her. Now he could see why Stark dropped her off so fast.

This girl talked a million beats a second.

Hawkeye turned, pulled back his arrow and set his gaze on the girl standing in front of him.

She couldn't have been more than twenty. She was young, and her dress was in tatters.

She looked like hell.

And for a moment, he considered this; she was a common citizen of New York City standing in the middle of a very apparent war. A war she never asked for and a war she probably never would understand. For a moment, he considered the fact that she wasn't one of them. Not one of the Avengers. Helpless. No superpowers, no weapons, nothing.

She was human.

(but so was he)

She tensed up and froze. Mechanically, she raised her hands into the air in an act of surrender.

The arrow slipped and rammed into the face of a Chitauri who stood no more than a few feet behind her.

She squeaked when she felt a mass at her feet and reveled in the fact that it was an enemy.

"You need to get out of here," Hawkeye stated as-a-matter-of-factly. He could actually try out a little bit of warmth for the sake of humanity and empathizing but that'd never been his style and they were standing in the middle of a battlefield. This wasn't a game, and he couldn't afford to be _nice_ for the sake of being _nice. _Beating around the bush was not his forte, and he was taught better than that. First priority was to get about saving lives before worrying about the emotional trauma that came afterward.

What was that thing Natasha said? _This isn't anything we were ever trained for_.

Besides, he was a master _freaking_ assassin—_not_ Captain America. If and when he put on the jumpsuit with red stripes wired over blue, maybe he'd consider being a little more pleasant (and patriotic).

He wasn't there for people to like him.

"_Right_!" she bowed slightly, "Thank you. I really appreciate it. Um—what's your name?"

He paused before answering, "Hawkeye," he answered tersely, for the sake of keeping his identity secret.

"That's really your name?" she asked, genuinely surprised.

He blanched at her question and resisted the urge to roll his eyes, "No, of course that's not _really_ my name," he stated, the calm and patience in his reserve depleting at an alarming rate.

"Oh so what's your real name?" she asked curiously.

"None of your business," he replied starkly. _How can one human being possibly be so annoying?_

"..._okay_," she said dumbly after a moment's hesitation, "Hawkeye," she looked like she didn't like the taste in her mouth, "I'm Leia. But people call me Lee," not that he really cared.

Not that he would remember in the next T minus three minutes. He had a freaking _war _to worry about. But he could see from the corner of his eye that she was shaking. Jittery. Today, she was anxiety personified but he knew better than anybody that after this, Lee would probably be appreciating her life more than she could imagine.

Being on the edge of death could do that to people.

Him, on the other hand...he was already immune and desensitized to this kind of shit.

Hawkeye grimaced and made a gesture to the door with his head. This seemed to register to her quickly as the smile faded from her lips. She nodded, "Um, thanks. For this. And everything," and the words she never said aloud: _for saving my life and all. _She took off in the opposite direction while he turned around to see the status of the city at hand.

From this distance, he could see three Chitauri headed dangerously close to Natasha and the Captain, who already had their hands full with evacuating the citizens, still left standing. So he reached into the pack on his back and fished out a single explosive arrow.

He pulled and felt that bowstring stretch taut.

Three.

Two.

"Um, sorry to bother you again…but—the stairs are gone."

One.

And the string went slack as the arrow pierced the air. Even with the sudden distraction, it still made contact with the ankle of one of the Chitauri, blowing his two comrades into smithereens. Not quite how Hawkeye planned it out, but this unintentional little improvisation worked in this case.

He didn't think he'd be so lucky the next time. There wasn't much in archery that he could improvise on a whim.

And he wasn't the kind of guy to take risks.

Hawkeye rubbed furiously at his temple, and turned around, "What are you still doing here?"

Lee blushed furiously and gestured towards the exit he'd pointed out for her earlier, "The stairs. They're gone."

"What do you mean they're gone?"

She sucked in a deep breath, "Blown up. They aren't there anymore—they're—"

One Chitauri made his way up the side of the building behind her.

Clint raised his arrow.

"—um, decimated? Only half of them are left. And…you can't expect me to jump down, right? I'm jumping down a fifty story high building—"

Five more appeared behind Chitauri as they scaled from behind Lee.

Followed by another seven.

Suddenly, he lowered his bow.

Still blissfully unaware, Lee continued to ramble on, avoiding his gaze while she stared at the burning buildings in the backdrop, "—did I mention I have a mortifying fear of heights? Who doesn't! I mean, I will forever be indebted to _Iron Man_ but oh my goodness had it not been for that fall, I surely would've died of mini-heart attack!"

She was panicking.

"I mean—isn't that just the craziest thing you've ever—"

_Shit_.

Hawkeye made a dash forward, grabbed her by the arm and dragged her towards the ledge.

Her eyes widened and the only thing she could make out was a "Oh, please God no, I'd rather be," and a mild (and subsequent failed) attempt at running back towards those Chitauri before he tucked her under her arm, pulled that arrow back, and fell backwards into a free-fall.

…that was until the arrow attached itself into the side of the building.

And then they went crashing into the glass.

* * *

_reviews are love & are greatly appreciated!  
_


	2. they need us

**Gaia'schild**: I can't see why you would think I'd actually include my real name in it. This is a crackish take on Hawkeye and an average civilian. Not a self-insert story.

Also I changed the first chapter around because I wasn't really satisfied with how it turned out.

This update was super fast! haha

* * *

An agonized scream pierced the air.

From where he lay, Hawkeye shot a hand up and slammed his palm over her mouth while he pressed a single finger to his lips in an effort to get to understand—_shut up_.

He'd hit her a little harder than he meant to in the first place. That would probably explain the look of utter mortification on her face and the glossy eyes to match. She was probably on the brink of crying but this seemed to shut her up really good.

Slowly, he let his arm fall limply to his side while he relaxed comfortably into the rubble of glass shards beneath him, trying hard to ignore the very prominent red mark he'd made on the lower half of her face. That was nothing compared to the injuries he'd ended up harboring. Hawkeye had scratches in all sorts of unsuspecting places from the impact of the fall but after a moment of consideration, he decided this was child's play compared to what he'd been through in Budapest. So he inhaled deeply before sitting up, feeling fragments of glass crack under his weight.

Lee sucked in a breath.

Hawkeye shifted his gaze; his eyes widened, "Don't."

Her face puffed up as she held that same breath, cheeks flushing a brilliant shade of red.

"Don't you dare," he stated firmly while creasing his brow in agitation.

She made a muffled sound that resembled faintly of a rat caught in a trap but Clint was far too tired to make those same washed up metaphors so he reached an arm out in an attempt to mediate the very obvious tension in the air— "Listen, you're not going to—"

–and before he could finish, she burst into tears.

* * *

He was running.

Jesus Christ, the last thing he wanted to do was make a girl cry but duty called and so here he was on the field, trying to find a high ledge to stand on.

Anybody who had any practical training knew that whoever had the higher ground had the tactical advantage in battle. Especially for archers.

But somehow, despite this little piece logic screaming at him to _find higher freaking ground_, he ended up on the low with the rest of his crew. Thor. Steve. Natasha. Bruce.

So he pulled that arrow back and felt his bowstring stretch taught.

And he watched it soar, and fly high into the blue…

…until Loki caught it firmly in his grasp. He smirked. _Stupid human_.

Three.

Two.

An explosion.

This time, it was Hawkeye's turn to smile.

Bullseye.

* * *

"All civilians on thirty-ninth are evacuated," Steve stated into his mic, taking a quick glance around the vicinity before stepping over the rubble.

"Wait," Hawkeye paused suddenly.

"_I'm waiting, dear_," Stark stated from the other line.

"I left someone in the tower," Clint continued vaguely while Steve spared him a glance from the distance, "the same tower you dropped that girl off from earlier. The fortieth floor. The stairs are broken so she can't go down."

"_Got it_."

* * *

Hawkeye didn't see her after that bout of waterworks. It wasn't too much of a surprise. Presumably, Tony did what he had to do, saved the damsel, took all the glory and got her on safe ground again.

Hawkeye was on his way home.

He felt…oddly normal.

Well, as normal as somebody like him could get.

"You hit a girl?" Steve was only mildly amused as he took a seat next to the very piqued archer on the couch, "That's very chivalrous of you."

"I didn't _hit_ her," Clint managed to maintain some sense of calm while he scooted over to make room for him, "she was screaming. I had to shut her up."

"So you hit her," obviously, he wasn't going to let this go.

_How does everyone know about this?_ Clint thought bitterly to himself as he made his way towards the small kitchenette in the corner of the room. _Oh right, I decided to confide in the world's worst confidante._

"_She was crying when I picked her up. Jeez—did you hit her or something?"_

"_I had a job to do."_

"_She said you hit her. Is that true?"_

"…_no."_

"…"

"…_yes. Okay. I did. But I also saved her goddamned life. Not that it matters, apparently."_

"_That's low. Hitting a woman? Where's your sense of compassion?"_

"_Really? You're going to talk to me about compassion, Stark?"_

Steve turned on the television and relaxed into the cushions of the couch, which apparently, was a very difficult thing to do since he wouldn't stop fidgeting, "So what do you plan on doing when you get back? Take a vacation?"

"I don't take vacations," Clint replied blandly while he poured himself a glass of water.

"Right," Steve smiled halfheartedly, "not even after saving the world from mass destruction?"

"There's always going to be another villain," Hawkeye shifted his gaze to the television set—but he wasn't _really_ watching. News on the Chitauri attacks had been viral for the past six hours. He'd been standing on the battlefield when everything was happening so there wasn't anything he hadn't seen already.

Plus, this news was constantly rewinded, repeated.

"Wow," this was when Steve decided to look over his shoulder and spare his friend a glance, "I didn't think you were the type of person to be into clichés."

"Just because something is cliché doesn't make it stupid," Hawkeye didn't miss a beat on this one.

Suddenly, a timid looking girl in a very, _very_ familiar looking orange tattered dress appeared in the corner of the screen with a blanket wrapped around her shoulder. She smiled weakly, a good distance away. Iron Man saluted and took off in a blast, the air around her lifting her skirt up slightly.

Before Clint could properly register this, the camera shifted back to the reporter while she tugged over a nearby waitress who gave her gratitude to the _fantastic Captain America_.

Hawkeye watched Steve carefully from behind, halfheartedly expecting a "hell yeah," or even a "that's right," but he seemed to forget that once upon a time, even Captain America was a soldier so humility came easy to him, even in this field of egos and passive aggressive. So when the interview simmered into silence, Hawkeye discerned from this distance Captain America's clenched fist over the ledge of the couch.

"Sometimes we forget these people are human," he said, suddenly.

A moment of silence passed between the two.

"That they don't have superpowers or acrobatic training, or anything that could help them in that kind of situation," Steve lifted the remote the turned the television off.

And the words he never said aloud: _they need us_.

Slowly, he stood up from where he sat and stretched his arms out high into the air while stifling a yawn, "I'm off for a nap. If you know what's good for you, you should get some rest too. Since you don't plan on taking a vacation from this and all."

* * *

Thank you guys for the reviews on the last chapter (: and wow, 24 story alerts already? You're all amazing.


	3. cool kids parade

**Note**: So I'm writing a more action-based story on Clint Barton/Hawkeye; as usual, not much romance but it's called "When in Rome," and I'd love if you guys checked it out. But if you don't want to, please don't feel compelled to!

Also, I tried really hard to work on my dialogue here...

* * *

Outside the theater in Herald Square in possibly the greatest city in the world, two uninterested and tired looking college students stepped out under the loom of the streetlight while a silent shower of snow drifted in clusters from above.

"So," the boy shifted his weight to the back of his heels while a small stream of translucent smoke puffed through his parted lips, "how was it?"

"It was really good," Lee replied, veering her gaze from his eyes to the ground distractedly, "I actually kind of loved it. I mean, the entire movie was this elaborate, extended metaphor and completely deconstructed the romantic comedy genre. Which is great because I'm honestly not a big fan of romance _or_ comedies. It's rare to get either right, let alone both, you know?"

He looked startled and his eyes widened slightly. For what it was worth, he suckered out a semblance of a laugh, "Wow."

She grinned, "Sorry. Am I rambling again? I—_um_—I tend to do that a lot."

"No," he replied after a moment's hesitation while the corners of his lips tipped into a small smile, "I'm just…surprised. I didn't see it really that way."

Lee pursed her lips and sucked in a short breath, "…_yup_," and she decided to give him the benefit of the doubt and discount the fact that the movie was called _Romance Breakdown_.

Cue the awkward laugh, "Well," he remarked dryly, "thanks."

She brushed a lock of hair behind her ear, "…right. Ha ha. Thanks. I had a good time."

"Yeah," he ushered forward and nodded in agreement, "me too. I'll call you."

He wouldn't.

"I'll be looking forward to it," she replied without missing a beat.

* * *

"There are too many pigeons in New York," Clint lamented with an indifferent sigh. It was ironic enough that he was named after a bird but he couldn't help how annoying these winged rats were. And the horrifying thing about them was they didn't seem the least bit afraid of the people strolling around. The fact that they were still _here_ in the wintertime should've warned him about their sheer stubbornness.

He strolled through the small space that was the Avengers' float while they made their way through downtown Broadway. His snow boots were rough and frigid against his clammy toes.

It figured New York would eventually hold a parade for the Avengers but the fact that their attendance was _mandatory_ was a little more than, well...annoying. What was more agitating was upon his arrival, he realized there was no sign of Hulk, Thor _or_ Widow. So this mandatory parade wasn't really quite mandatory after all.

Apparently, he missed the notice they could skip out.

"This is humiliating," Steve muttered bitterly under his breath.

Apparently, so did Captain America.

"You should be more excited about this," Clint replied impartially, slipping his hands into the back pockets of his casual jeans, "they're treating us like we're the _Giants_ and we just won the Super Bowl."

He wasn't _really_ excited about this but he figured he might as well make the best out of what he had while it lasted. He'd be leaving for Tibet tomorrow and he couldn't really afford to complain about something so stupid. If there was one thing he learned after years and years of having his life on edge, it was that it was the small and _stupid_ human things that assured him the most.

Steve spared a glance around at the high-rise skyscrapers (he'd never get used to it, _really_), "Super Bowl? What's that?"

Clint seemed to forget the fact that the Captain was kind of behind when it came to sports...or just pop culture in general, "Yeah—it's nothing."

* * *

"I'm not going," Lee stated firmly.

"Seriously?" Her roommate, Daphne, stared at her incredulously while collapsing onto a bed at the opposite side of the room. She played casually with the drawstrings of her (disgustingly hipster) backpack while her sweeping a long lock of dark brown hair behind her shoulder. "Wait—you're _kidding_ me right? You couldn't stop talking about this guy and now you don't even want to go see him?"

"Why do you sound so surprised?" Lee replied, flipping a page over in her New Yorker magazine, "I'm _sick_, I have a fever—plus, the last time I listened to you was when you set me up with Michael, who, might I add, _never called me back_."

"Well. I'm not really surprised," Daphne admonished with a sly smile, "Michael can be kind of dense."

"Oh thanks for the warning. You're kind of a week late on telling me," Lee replied dryly while she shifted from where she was lying on her bed, "besides, I'm really, really _stressed_, I have my LSATs _tomorrow_. Plus, it's finals week and this silly cleanse diet you have me on is making me break out all over my forehead. I'm also sleep-deprived and exhausted. So. Nope. Not going."

This prompted Daphne to chuck her Blackberry in Lee's direction.

She managed to dodge the device as it made contact roughly with the headboard of her bed.

This time, it was Lee's turn to stare at her roommate incredulously, "Hey! What if that actually hit me?"

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Daphne snapped, completely ignoring that fact that had that Blackberry been aimed with '_better_' precision, it could've potentially made contact with Lee's head, possibly giving her a concussion, "I mean—this guy saves your life, you can't stop talking about it, _or him_, and now you don't even want to see him?"

"The New York Giants win the Super Bowl. I'm not going to go to the parade to thank Eli Manning for making that super clutch pass to Manningham," Lee replied, sifting carefully through her magazine; and then after a half second of consideration, she decided to tack on, "or maybe I would go. I mean, beating the Patriots a second time in a row?" She let out a low whistle, turning her attention back to the pages of her magazine, "So much for being an underdog, _huh_."

Daphne stared daggers and shook her head with vehement disapproval, "You disgust me with your clichés."

"Are you bitter, Boston?" Mockingly, and with a good-natured smile, Lee placed a hand to her chest, "It's okay. We can't help where we're born. Just be glad you live in the greatest city now."

"Stop changing the subject," Daphne said firmly, knitting her brows in agitation, "and let's go to the parade."

"I have class," Lee replied without missing a beat.

"It's a _Sunday_!"

"_Pilates_ class," she corrected herself tersely.

Daphne snorted, "You don't work out."

"Well, I do now."

"You said you were sick."

Lee opened her mouth to say something back but bit her lower lip when she realized that for the first time, Daphne caught her lie. So she shrugged and conceded silent defeat before reclining into the headboard of her bed, flipping over another page in her New Yorker magazine.

"Stop reading your pretentious-douchebag magazine and come to the parade with me," Daphne groaned, pushing herself to the edge of her bed, "_please_?"

Lee looked over her shoulder, "Okay then."

Daphne arched a brow, "Wait—seriously?"

"Yeah. You said please," Lee replied with a cutesy, mock grin while tossing her magazine to the other end of the bed, "I just wanted to see how long I could get you to beg."

"_Wow_," Daphne sneered in her direction, "just when I thought you couldn't get any more annoying, you manage to outdo yourself."

Lee shrugged, "I'm not the one with a broken Blackberry."

Truth is, Daphne had been trying to break her phone for weeks so she could find a convenient excuse to get her parents to buy her a new phone. Yes, she was turning over to the Apple family, and yes she was fully aware she would be leaving the Crackberry family forever. But in this day and age, she couldn't afford to care about loyalty to technological families.

She hadn't really been planning to hit Lee in the first place. (What kind of crazy person would do something like _that_ anyway?) She was only trying to get a point across; and apparently, it worked. Kind of.

That and she'd been planning on checking out Captain-_freaking_-America's fantastic ass all week.

* * *

"Holy shit. Where is everyone?" Daphne asked, tugging at the straps of her backpack.

Lee strolled down the sidewalk and pursed her lips, sparing a quick glance around the vicinity. Daphne was right. The place was startlingly desolate compared to what it looked like when the Giants were around. Remnants of paper masks painted a red and yellow, red polyester capes and tiny, travel-sized American flags littered the ground in a cornucopia of patriotism and tired indifference.

The floats were coming up where they stood and Daphne jumped out excitedly on the edge of the metal railings while Lee admonished with a semblance of an amused smile that maybe _that_ was why the police had those barricades up in the first place. Even heroes had to be protected against the crazies. But after a moment of contemplation, she decided to follow suit and tried hard to duplicate Daphne's eagerness, but not without a bit of hesitation at first.

A flock of pigeons flew overhead. Lee ducked low immediately and covered her head quickly while they headed high into the blue, "There are too many freaking pigeons in New York."

"I'll never understand your fear of birds," Daphne told her, without sparing a glance in her terrified roommate's direction.

"You've never been pooped on," Lee pouted, knitting her brows in agitation, "though, you're not a real New Yorker until you've been pooped on by a pigeon."

"There's only two of them," Daphne scowled as the next float came into sight, turning the subject over almost too quickly.

The float held a giant red _A_ with two tired looking men standing at the front. One had his hands dug deep in his pockets while the other typed away furiously on his Blackberry, "Where's everybody else?" Daphne (almost) whined.

"Maybe that's why there's nobody here," Lee replied thoughtfully, "maybe they all came to see the others."

"Well—the captain's here," Daphne replied cheerfully, cupping her chin while she propped her elbows against the railing of the barricades, "you'd think he'd look a little happier about being here."

Lee didn't blame him. The parade was really kind of _lame_.

"And your savior isn't even here," Daphne said with a soft sigh, "you must be disappointed."

She considered this for a moment because she'd be lying if she said she wasn't slightly gloomy. But the truth is, she would probably be all the more gloomy if she was sitting back in her dorm alone. So she had to thank Daphne for this one, even if she was dragged out here in one way or another. Lee wouldn't admit aloud but her roommate sometimes knew best when it came to _what did they call them_—unconscious desires, a la Freud.

But it also took Lee a moment to actually _get _what Daphne was saying about her savior and all, "Oh, yeah. Tony Stark isn't here."

"Where's your mind at?" Daphne snapped, flicking her index finger roughly against Lee's forehead, "That took you _like_—half a minute to respond."

This left a brilliant red mark. Lee grimaced and rubbed gently at the spot with her index finger. But this irritation didn't last long because at this point, she turned her gaze as the float approached where they stood and she caught sight of one very familiar looking archer still typing away at his phone.

Upon closer inspection on the widescreen overhead the giant, obnoxious _A_, Lee realized, with a small smile that he must've been typing something _very_ important:

'_Darfdkuahliehaejra3283oje;roiaje;_'

_Hey Hawkeye—look over here_, Lee thought quietly to herself while she crossed her arms over the railing over the barricade.

Some might have called it an act of fate—some might call if pure coincidence and sheer _dumbass_ screwed up luck. But at that moment, Clint decided to lift his gaze from his phone…

…while a giant wad of pigeon droppings fell from the sky and fell promptly onto the screen of his phone.

* * *

_Reviews are love!_


End file.
